midnight, moonless
by fiesa
Summary: Tale of Felluah. His warmth feels different, somehow. OneShot, introspection- Orthez (Arthur). Set during Vol 04 Ch 05.


**midnight, moonless**

 _Summary: Tale of Felluah. His warmth feels different, somehow. OneShot, introspection- Orthez (Arthur). Set during Vol 04 Ch 05._

 _Warning: Drabble-esque, introspection._

 _Set: During Vol 04 Ch 05._

 _Disclaimer: Standards apply._

 _A/N: What is it that makes me love every single story Kim Yeon-Joo draws? There are funny, awkward, plainly stupid (come on, references to Neon Genesis Evangelion in June The Girl Queen?) and hilarious elements, but overall the stories are slow-paced, confusing, mind-twistingly complex and do not seem to have any sort of chronological order regarding the story-telling. Scene changes occur without warning or even explanation, the characters are hard to understand and impossibly silly at times, sometimes really hard to distinguish and I have yet to read any story of hers that had something remotely resembling a fulfilled relationship or even a happy end. And yet she draws me in every time. It probably helps that her art is something else._

 _So here it goes._

* * *

Orthez is a princess.

Well, she grew up like one, at least. Beloved eldest daughter of the Duke of Tessa, she had everything she could have wished for in her childhood: toys, dresses, pets, nannies and play mates and even freedom. Being the heiress of a small and relatively unimportant but wealthy duchy definitely had its advantages. Orthez had maidens who catered to her wishes only and her father would have gone to pick the stars from the sky for his eldest daughter, had she asked for it. He had arranged the marriage with Arthur for her even though he was convinced she could have done so much better. She could have married the Crown Prince of their country, after all. But Orthez had made her choice and he handed it to her on a silver platter, sprinkled with gold dust.

In Felluah, Orthez does not lack anything, either, and if she did, Arthur would give it to her within the shortest amount of time possible. She has dresses and beautiful chambers and books, handmaidens to wait on her and knights to entertain her. All her favorite foods are brought to the castle and served regularly. She has a garden which she does not need to tend to but is able to enjoy fully, she has a beautiful white mare and a soft leather saddle and gold-embroidered reigns, she has a secret passage to the forest with its clear streams and peaceful glades and a spectacular view from the top of the tower. Orthez has a seat at the window lined with soft cushions and a wide, warm bed with silver stars embroidered into the dark silken dome. When she feels like it, she goes out to visit her neighbors. When she feels tired, she is even left alone. She is just enough not-quite-a-princess to know this is not always a natural thing.

Orthez is the Countess of Felluah, and as such, she has everything she could ever wish for.

* * *

When she thought about sneaking into a village disguised as a peasant woman as a child, or, later, fantasized about meeting mysterious strangers on the road that would turn out to be the prince of a neighboring country and would whisk her away to live in eternal peace and happiness, she certainly had not expected it to happen like this.

* * *

They are attacked on their journey to Tessa.

Some thugs manage to capture her and push her over the cliffs. The cragged shapes and contours of her surroundings have burned themselves into her memory the last time she traveled this path, leaving her home for Felluah, and Orthez cannot even cry out. Arthur reacts fast enough, catching hold of her hand, but fate turns against them. Together, they fall, down, down, _down_ , crash through trees and shrubbery (and it probably saves their life) until she loses consciousness and blacks out. That way, Arthur and Orthez are separated from their traveling convoy. The thugs which were trying to abduct and ransom her to her father (they might plan on doing things even worse to her, she prefers not to think about them too closely) search the forest at the bottom of the cliff for her and alone she would be lost but at least Arthur is there with her. So Orthez just closes her eyes and waits, and listens to the sound of the wind in the trees.

The next day, they continue their journey on foot.

She is glad Arthur is with her because despite his royal heritage, he is not completely useless when it comes to unexpected situations. (Indeed, she chose well.) He knows his way around the villages, even though he might not know the exact road. He thinks of disguising them as peons, helps her undo the clasps of her dress and does not peek until she is changed. He does not protest when she offers to pawn her locket. He does not ask questions. He orders dinner at the inn and brings it up to their room so she does not have to eat in the taproom, where she most likely would give them away immediately. And when exhaustion finally hits her with the force of a sword swung to kill, he helps her hold her hair as she quickly washes her face with icy water and follows her to bed without a word.

His arms come around her middle like the most natural thing in the world.

The sensation of him so close is so surprising, so completely unanticipated – for her, no less, who always anticipates everything – that Orthez stops breathing.

* * *

They have been married for a few months now, but Arthur never as much as touched more than her hand until now. Orthez had resigned herself to patience, but inwardly, she might have been afraid. Her position, after all, was worth nothing if she would never bear the heir to Felluah. (Orthez is not afraid of anything or anyone.) On the other hand Arthur had shown no inclination towards taking other women to his bed. She had thought they would just need some time, some more familiarity between them. Even the nightly encounter in his room, in which he had so obviously taken a step forward, had felt like he had to force himself to touch her and some small part of her, while telling him, embarrassingly weepy, that she had thought him to be a lover of men, had been silenced in something that felt suspiciously like disappointment. She just could not have said whether she was disappointed with him that he had not particularly wanted to touch her, or that she herself had drawn back so quickly in something looking so much like fear.

And now he is holding her. Not carefully, like she is fragile and breakable, not like he is afraid of taking this step. Arthur holds her like she belongs into his arms and like both of them know.

Orthez, at least does not know.

 _This is not happening_ , her mind whispers, whispers because the lack of oxygen is quickly becoming too much. She exhales – carefully, controlled, but Arthur does not notice anything. Orthez does not dare turn around but from the sudden relaxation in his arms and the steady breathing she can hear close _so close_ to her ear, he must already be asleep. Of course, he had to be tired, as well. As a man, he might have been more used to walking long distances than she is but their day was nerve-wracking, nevertheless, and in contrast to her he did not sleep the past night. Orthez is exhausted, too. However, she does not think she will be able to fall asleep. Not when she is still wearing the same dress she wore the entire day, not when the couple next to them is still being so loud. Not when the voices from the taproom echo like the people are sitting just on the other side of the door to their small, derelict room. Not when Arthur is holding her like… Like he means it. But his arms are warm and solid around her middle, like he knows what he is doing. Like he has done this before. It is a bit much – no, it is _too_ much, too fast. A few weeks ago he would not even look at her, and now his breath is so close to her ear she shivers involuntarily. How can she relax now? She is tired, exhausted to the bone, and yet her entire body is alert at the unfamiliar sensation of Arthur so close to her. Of course he has touched her before. He has taken her hand at the wedding. She has slept with her head in his lap. But this time, his warmth feels… _different,_ somehow.

And then she feels herself relaxing.

It should have been impossible, but it is not. _Ah_ , she thinks, her mind drifting off, lulled into sleep by the steady sensation of Arthur's heart beat at her shoulder blade and his breathing in her ear. Did he move? His arms tighten, drawing her closer, and suddenly her back is pressed against his chest completely. The feeling of warmth enveloping her is not alien. _Ah._ Muscle memory. _This has happened before._ Orthez falls asleep, the sound of voices and Arthur's presence wrapping around her like an alien but comfortable blanket keeping her safe and warm.

When she awakens the next morning, she cannot remember her dream. Her back is cold. Her arms feel empty. Arthur watches her from the foot of the bed.

* * *

Her feet are sore.

They continue their journey. Contrary to Arthur's expectations Orthez is very aware of the glances she catches, knows when people are looking at her, sizing her up and jotting her down. She does not hear all the comments and gossip flying through the air like golden summers' flower pollen, but she _feels_ it. It makes her uncomfortable but she refuses to let it show. After all, she is not a simple farmer's daughter: she is Orthez Lafrey, born Acryl, daughter of the Duke of Tessa, wife of Arthur Lafrey the Earl of Felluah. Orthez is the Countess of Felluah. There should be no difference between the knights and lords of a country watching her and a horde of peasant men and travelers ogling her, except there is. Making her way through the taproom, she can _feel_ the whispers, the gossip. At least they are right in one aspect: she is beautiful, and Arthur is with her by her own choice.

(Orthez knows the value of a woman, and she is not afraid of playing men using her own beauty. It is, after all, the only currency she possesses which the world of men accepts, as well.)

And yet, she feels naked.

Arthur's arm comes up and around her shoulders, heavy, warm and familiar.

He cannot, however, shorten the path they have to travel towards Tessa by any means. Orthez knows that, and she knows she cannot blame him for the pain that is raking through her swollen feet. So she continues on, knowing that she will have to give in to it in a few hours. Until then, the least she can do is smile. And, perhaps, distract Arthur a bit, because he is entertaining when he wants to be and she usually enjoys their conversations. When he answers, she can forget her feet and the nasty blisters that are forming on them.

But she never thought he would actually ask her about her intentions.

The irony of the situation makes her smile. Is it not the role of the women to question their future husbands – or lovers – on their intentions? She answers with a phrase which, of course, makes him note how usually men would say this. And the smile he gives her suddenly and embarrassingly reminds her of his lips, so close to hers but not quite touching, his eyes completely detached. _We have to conceive a heir, after all._ Only now, him looking at her so directly feels far more intimate than any physical contact they had before last night.

"I do not recall being captured by the Countess."

Two can play a game, she thinks.

"I have yet to capture my Lord's heart? I should try harder."

He simply answers "Please do", and her pride takes a head dive towards hurt until she reels it back in resolutely and reminds herself that she has no need for his approval. She already has everything she needs, after all, and what she does not possess she acquires by her own strength. Everything – except for his approval, apparently, and she cannot say whether it is her hurt pride that is smarting or something else entirely.

That is what this man does to her: he is gentle the first moment and cold and hurtful the next, and she _wishes_ – but then, she chose him herself, did she not?

Orthez Lafrey always–

It happens in a matter of heart beats. The sunlight making his dark hair shine like black gold reminds her that there still is one thing she doesn't have, and suddenly she wishes for it with an aching need that draws at her heart and pushes at her bones and makes her feel small and insignificant. She never thought this day would come, never even planned for it, and all her wealth, her intelligence and her beauty have not prepared her for this. She was in control of her life and suddenly this man, the man she chose herself, has shown her something she never would have expected she could ever long for. Part of it is the truth: Orthez is an empty shell, full of insubstantial beauty and wealth and pride.

Part of it is even more terrifying.

It was not supposed to be like this. She had planned for her future, and she had been ready to accept it the way she had thought it would turn out. Now she realizes that there always had been something she deliberately had tried to avoid at all costs, because everyone knew what happened if one gave in like that. Orthez has seen the consequences, has watched them unfold in front of her with her own eyes. Has even _felt_ something very much like them, on a level that had made her think _He must have been very brave._ Maybe that was when it first started. Or when they sat at the window, waiting. Or when Arthur looked at her and _through_ her and then left, the door closing softly behind him. How stupid of her, really, to not have thought of that, but she had been so sure something like that would never apply to her. She is Orthez Lafrey, after all, daughter of the Duke of Tessa. She does not make these kind of mistakes.

Her thundering heart belies her thoughts.


End file.
